Reviving Haven

by CORY CYR

  My sex is throbbing and I’m slick with desire. God, I’m so aroused. Latch has his hand on my head, stroking my hair. I never knew that giving a man this kind of pleasure would give me so much in return. I’m on the verge of coming—I can feel it. All I can think about at this moment is Latch coming in my mouth.

  “Jesus, Haven!”

  His cry almost startles me as his release explodes into my mouth, hot and salty. I pull back slightly, but I don’t take him out of my mouth as he continues to spurt until he’s totally spent. His juices continue to run down the back of my throat, filling me with an unexpected deep satisfaction. Having him, release in my mouth is the single most intimate, sensual experience of my life. I withdraw him gently from my mouth and lay my head on his chest. His breathing is uneven but his body begins to relax.

  “Leannán,” he whispers as he strokes my hair.

  I run my hand across the planes of his stomach as I snuggle into him. With my head lying on his chest, I feel a fulfillment I’ve never known. I feel content and, most of all, desired.

  He’s asleep. I close my eyes, and hope sleep will take me too. I want to dream of possibilities without the apprehension of fear for what the future might bring.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wake up alone. Latch’s side of the bed is vacant and the sheets are cool to the touch. I cross the floor and open the bedroom door. The entire house feels empty and is very quiet—I hear nothing at all. I cross to the balcony, pulling the sliding glass door open and walking outside. The sun is warm, yet there’s a slight chill in the air. I lean over the railing and scout the beach for Latch. I don’t see anyone. I step back inside, sliding the door closed. I decide to cleanup and change before continuing my search, so I take a quick shower and then change into jeans and a tank top. I brush my teeth and pull back my hair into a high ponytail. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I leave the bedroom.

  As I’m about to go downstairs, I notice the door next to the bedroom is wide open and I decide to sneak a peek. The room is almost all white, which is pretty but stark at the same time. It’s Latch’s office. He probably creates his graphic masterpieces in here. A large drafting table is in the middle of the room. There are three computers and a laptop sitting across from the table. The only other furniture is one lone chair. Many sketches are pinned and taped up on every wall in the room. The drawings of Latch’s video games are amazing, hauntingly beautiful in a macabre way. His attention to detail is quite astonishing and his drawing technique is nothing like I’ve ever seen. I close the door behind me and make my way downstairs.

  It’s eerily quiet. Frankly, it’s a little unnerving to be alone in Latch’s house. I decide to take a walk along the beach, hoping to find him. As I reach the bottom step of the stairs, I see him waving in the distance. He’s walking out of the surf with his board in hand. As I get closer, it becomes hard to swallow as a knot in my throat forms. He stands there, shaking the water out of his hair. His body is coated with salt and sand, and water beads on his chest, trickling toward his belly button and trailing the cut of his V. I stare, licking my lips. He chuckles as he stabs his board into the sand, freeing his hands.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, I may have to strip you naked right here on the beach and have my way with you.”

  He observes me through his wet eyelashes. Then he takes one long stride towards me, wraps his arms around me and draws me into his body. His wet skin penetrates my clothing. His kiss is possessive as our tongues probe each other’s mouths in exploration. He tastes like salt and coffee. I feel his arousal press against my belly, which causes me to softly gasp into his mouth. He fists my ponytail, wrapping it around his hand and pulling me even closer. I really want him to take me right here on the sand. But not without coffee first, I chuckle to myself.

  I pull away from him. He looks displeased. I grin and pat him on his butt, a butt that is so taut and muscular I could bounce a quarter off it, as Weezie would say.

  “I need coffee badly, like you need to hook me up to an IV of it,” I exclaim dramatically, trying to adjust my now damp clothing.

  Latch laughs as he pulls his board from the sand. Taking my hand, we begin walking back to the house. He leans his surfboard against the garage as we make our way upstairs.

  “It’s too late for breakfast so I’m going to make us pasta salad for lunch. While I’m cooking, feel free to inject as much caffeine as you deem necessary. However, right now, I’m jumping in the shower. Care to join me?” He arches a brow with his patented panty-dropping smile.

  “So sorry, already took one. I’m officially clean.” I grin as I flop down on the sofa.

  “You know, I can help you with that—I mean the clean part.”

  His lips curve into a seductive smile. I pretend not to be affected, but my body is constantly betraying me. I find myself questioning another shower. I jump off the sofa and guide him toward the stairs.

  “Please have mercy on me and do take a shower.” Waving my hand in front of my nose, I feign smelling a foul odor in the air.

  Latch looks at me and grabs his chest, pretending to be wounded. I smile. As he heads up the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of fresh brew. I fill a cup and drink it with relish. I need the jolt, considering that I don’t have the stamina or the vigor of a twenty-five year old male. Caffeine is my only hope to keep up with him. I head back into the living room and relax while enjoying another cup of coffee.

  About fifteen minutes later, a showered and refreshed looking Latch strolls down the stairs in nothing but a pair of khakis and a smile. I almost choke on my coffee. His hair along with his body is still damp. His eyes are alive with green, blue and gray hues. The stance he takes in front of me, and the way he looks at me makes my body stir; I want nothing more right now than to have him inside of me. Latch is definitely sex on a stick and then some.

  Latch struts towards me and bends his head down. He tilts my chin up, running his tongue across my lips. Before I met him, I would have considered the act crass, but with Latch, it’s sensual as hell. He kisses me on the cheek then walks into the other room. I hear him going through the refrigerator in the kitchen and then the pantry. I poke my head into the kitchen, watching him line up ingredients, including several vegetables. He catches me watching him and smiles. He picks up a large knife and begins chopping up the produce.

  “I promise, this masterpiece will more than make up for any meals you may have missed,” he says, winking, referring to my missed dinner last night. He still has no idea about my super-secret ninja raid on his kitchen in the wee hours of the morning.

  I move the rest of the way into the kitchen and lean against the far counter, watching him prepare the food on the center island. His face reflects intensity as he works and I smile to myself—I’m still astounded that this particular man has so much passion for cooking.

  “Well, Mr. McKay, I know you’re a gourmet cook, an award winning video game designer, a connoisseur of panties and a faux botanist. Tell me, are there any other accomplishments I should know about?” I ask, beaming in his direction.

  He puts the knife down and his eyes focus on me like a laser-beam, penetrating me with the color of dark azure. He wipes his hands on a towel and takes a step toward me.

  “You forgot ‘sex god.’” His voice sounds like smoked velvet.

  I bite back a swallow. There is no disputing that he is the embodiment of a sex god. I take a step toward him, studying him closely. My lips press together into a devilish grin.

  “Well, technically, Google search has you categorized in with the womanizing manwhores,” I say stone faced.

  He lets out a loud laugh, nodding his head toward mine in defeat. He turns and picks up his knife, continuing to make our lunch.

  Without looking up he says, “I promise, Ms. Wells, to amend my ways—absolutely no more womanizing. I swear to be your manwhore only.” Thinking about what Latch is promising me is overwhelming. I’m not sure if he’s sincere,
but I do appreciate the sentiment.

  He puts the knife down. I crack a smile and chuckle as I walk over to him, slip my arms around him and press a kiss to his bare back.

  “Let me help you. I’m fully caffeinated and wired,” I say as I lean my head into his back.

  I brush my fingers across his shoulders, tracing the tattoo on his right arm. His posture shifts, indicating how easily he’s aroused. It makes me giddy knowing how my touch affects him. For the first time, I feel sexually confident because I’m the one who turns him on. I’m the one he wants. For once, a man makes me feel like I have worth, value. Everything with him feels normal, natural. Being with him feels like home. It’s as if I belong with him. I feel like I have known him years instead of less than a month.

  Latch turns and hands me a knife. I begin cutting up the broccoli and cauliflower. Once the pasta is boiled and drained, Latch adds everything else. He tosses the salad and adds a homemade Italian dressing. We take the food outside to the patio to eat and enjoy the view.

  “What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” He asks, putting his fork down.

  I place my knife on the edge of the plate and pick up the napkin to wipe the corners of my mouth.

  “Thinking about you and how different you are from what I thought. You’re really a nice man, Latch.” I speak with honesty and I mean every word.

  Latch shakes his head. “Oh God, help me, you think I’m nice. Haven’t you heard nice is like the kiss of death when it’s in reference to a man?” he quips.

  “Oh, but remember, I called you a womanizing manwhore too, and quite a few other things you don’t know about,” I taunt him.

  “Maybe I can be all things to you . . . nice, and a manwhore, but only for you. Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, no matter how sullied it is.” He lifts one eyebrow as he smirks.

  “Latch, tell me about McKay Enterprises, what do you actually do?” I question as I poke the salad with my fork.

  “All very technical,” he states, grinning. “I started drawing when I was quite young.” He pauses. “I suppose I got very good at it. When I was about seventeen and still in England, I was going to design school and I was approached by several companies regarding doing graphics for video games. Games at that time were just coming into their own, nothing like they are now, which is huge. Anyway, after I came back to America, it seemed to me there were too many politics involved in the industry, so my mother introduced me to a few of her business acquaintances and I decided to try creating games on my own.”

  “That’s quite ambitious for someone so young,” I say, touching his arm.

  Latch’s eyes flare. “I’m kind of an ambitious guy. What about you, what’s your passion in life?” Latch asks as he takes a drink.

  “Well, you know I have the bookstore and I love what I do. To be honest, I’m not that talented in anything except books.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” Latch suggests slyly. “I find you are extremely talented in many areas.”

  I find myself once again blushing, feeling my body respond to his words.

  “Aside from those talents, I would love to write a book someday. I know it sounds silly, but I’d love to pen a great romance novel.” I peek over at Latch, waiting for a response.

  “I can see that happening. I could be your muse.”

  We sit there and continue eating the rest of our lunch and talking. Once we finish, we go back indoors and Latch takes our dishes and puts them in the dishwasher. We move into the living room and settle on the sofa, and then turn on the flat screen. Latch stretches out, laying his head across my lap. I sigh with contentment and comb my hand through his hair, and then trace his beard with my fingers as I glance down at him.

  “I’m curious. In the photos I’ve seen of you, you never had any kind of facial hair, only an occasional scruffy look. You know—the one that all the sex gods have.” I laugh. “When we first met, I was sure your razor must have been hijacked with your hairbrush. What prompted you growing a beard . . . laziness?” I giggle as I manage to grasp some of his beard and tug lightheartedly. I actually like Latch with his facial hair. It makes him look very sexy . . . well, more than normal, I suppose.

  “Yeah, it was probably laziness in the beginning. But after I met you, I decided to keep the beard. I’ll keep it short and trim, but it’s staying,” he replies with conviction as he runs his hand over it. Our fingers meet. He sits up and puts his arm around me.

  “I know you think the age difference is a big deal, so I’ll do whatever is necessary to make you more comfortable. The beard stays—I believe it makes me look older. If that reassures you, then that’s all that matters.” There’s sincerity in his voice that literally squeezes my heart.

  I’m petrified of the way I feel right now. The gentleness he has shown me, and his acceptance of all my inadequacies, has shaken me to my foundation. This is not supposed to happen. I shouldn’t feel these things for him. He makes me believe and fills me with desires, even though I have a dreadful past. I’m so afraid this will end badly, that we can never be, and the weight of the knowledge is crushing my spirit. All the things I’ve read about Latch might be true, but he’s so much more than how he’s portrayed in the media.

  Jared had been wrong. I might be flawed, but I’m not as broken as he claimed I was. Latch is a living, breathing example of everything I can have if I just take step up and take it—believe in it.

  It’s getting late and I know this unbelievable weekend is ending. The thought of not being in his bed tonight saddens me, but it’s time for a reality check, and going home will show me the truth and let me know if Latch will see me again after this weekend.

  “Latch, I should probably get going.” I nudge him.

  A frown shadows his face as he pulls me on top of him. I can feel his hard length straining against his shorts as he wraps his arms tightly against me, grinding his erection into my belly.

  “I don’t think I can let you leave without being inside of you again,” he whispers into my mouth. His scent and warmth makes my sex tighten, my skin tingle. I try to pull away, but he holds me firm.

  “Always running from me, leannán?” He smiles, not letting go.

  “Not running, just going home. I’m exhausted. I’ve had more orgasms this weekend than I’ve had in my entire life,” I say in a low voice filled with embarrassment. “Should I be thanking you?” I sigh as I brush my lips against his.

  “Okay, now that’s truly a travesty. Really, babe, you should be having one at least every day, and I’ll be there to make sure that quota is reached.” His reply sounds more like a promise than a threat.

  I manage to break out of his hold and stand up. I reach for Latch’s hand to pull him off the couch. He reluctantly stands, his shaft straining against the fabric of his shorts, demanding attention. For some reason, his expression amuses me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never affected men like this before. Latch appears frustrated, not happy at all.

  “I’m only going home. I’m not running from you, I swear. I’ll see you this week or . . . tomorrow night if you want.” I start for the stairs, but I stop and turn to look at Latch. “Do not follow me up these stairs, Mr. McKay,” I growl at him.

  I know damn well if Latch corners me in his bedroom, I will submit. I have no willpower with him, especially in closed spaces. I have to fight myself right now because I want to touch him so badly, but I know another round of sex with him will lead to me staying another night. I quickly grab my overnight bag and head back downstairs. Latch is sitting on the sofa, mumbling while trying to rearrange himself in his shorts. I almost laugh because he does look rather forlorn.

  “I’ll be taking you home,” he announces, surprising me with the news. I had expected his driver to take me.

  “Didn’t you leave your car at the restaurant?” I ask, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, but I have another two in the garage,” he replies, shrugging.

  Latch has three cars an
d a limo service, I just managed to pay off my four-year-old car last year.

  Latch strolls outside to his garage. I wait with anticipation, wondering if his vehicle will be a Lamborghini or a Ferrari. I silently snort because both those cars scream manwhore, or very rich manwhore, depending on the model. I meet him outside at the top of the stairs. He takes my overnight bag and slings it on his shoulder. Then he takes my hand, turning it over and kissing my palm. My eyes meet his and I melt. As we walk down the stairs, I can hear the motor running. As I get closer to the sound, my eyes almost pop out of their sockets. I can now add owner of the hottest car ever made to his list of accomplishments. He opens the passenger door and tosses my bag in the backseat. As I slide onto the seat, he closes the door for me. He walks over to the driver’s side and gets in. He revs up the engine two or three times and I feel the vibrations course through my body.

  “I have a confession—this is my number one baby,” he muses as he pats the steering wheel.

  “Oh, I would never try to compete with a Shelby. I love these cars,” I reply, rubbing my hand gingerly across the dash.

  “You know cars?” He sounds surprised.

  “Don’t sound so shocked, I was raised around muscle cars. My dad is a huge car enthusiast. There are many things you don’t know about me, Mr. McKay, just because you rifled through my purse doesn’t mean you know everything about me. Women have to keep some secrets, you know. I do admit I’m really floored with your automobile choice. You are always surprising me.” I place my hand on his thigh and gently squeeze.

  “You were expecting a manwhore car, right?” He jokes. I nod in confirmation, struggling to suppress the gale of laughter threatening to escape from my lips.

  He shakes his head good-naturedly, smiling, puts the car into gear and we tear out of the drive, making our way down the coastline. This Shelby reflects the driver: sexy, erotic, and passionate. Even the color is the same dominate shade of deep green as his eyes.